


Half crown an hour

by Bruxalunch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Brothels, Geralt's the whore this time, Humor, Jaskier is an unsatisfied customer, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Work, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bruxalunch/pseuds/Bruxalunch
Summary: It turned out that being a whore wasn’t any worse than being a Witcher. Customers were more of an annoyance than anything, and the few who managed to make him grit his teeth were charged extra.The trouble started, of course, when Jaskier strolled into the brothel.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

He spent three weeks in the woods, stalking the beast that would pay for his next bowl of stew. 

“With bread,” he muttered to Roach, tying the creature’s severed head to the back of the saddle. “And butter. And a bed after.”

“Pfrrrfb,” whickered Roach. 

“Yes, and oats for you,” Geralt assured her, patting her neck. 

He collected his pay from the begrudging mayor and proceeded to the nearest inn. 

One look through the window at the well-to-do patrons and he changed his mind about going in. Far too clean in there. But the adjacent stables would do nicely for his horse. He paid the stableboy, rubbed Roach down himself, and then headed on foot to the town’s other option: the brothel. 

He ate. There was stew, with surprisingly soft bread. Butter. Beer. Everything he’d hoped for, and the prices were reasonable. 

“We don’t rent beds,” the proprietor informed him when he asked. “We rent whores. By the hour.”

“Does the whore come with a bed?” Geralt asked flatly. “Because in that case, I’d like ten hours of your cheapest whore.”

When the requested whore was summoned from the cellar, unpainted and wearing an apron over her plain brown frock, the proprietor handed her a candle, notched to mark the time. “Ten hours,” he said. 

“Make it twenty,” Geralt grumbled. The whore received another candle and led Geralt up the stairs. 

He fell asleep with his cock inside her before the first candle reached its first notch.

In the morning he fucked her to completion, had a bath and a hearty breakfast, and went back to sleep. When he awoke in mid-afternoon, nearing the end of the second candle, he decided to stay for a second night. 

That’s when he discovered that his money was missing. 

He made his explanations in the proprietor’s office. Yes, he had been robbed, but no, he wasn’t accusing his whore of stealing. She was the only person Geralt was certain was innocent. It wasn’t the first time he’d come up short when it was time to pay a bill, one way or another. And while there wasn’t much work for Witchers in these parts, there was other work he could do.

The proprietor looked him up and down. “Been a while since I hired a man,” he said. “They tend to get used up quick. You look like you might last a while though.”

“I’ll do whatever you need,” Geralt rumbled. 

“All right then. Ass over the desk.”

Geralt blinked, not understanding. “Over the desk,” he repeated, frowning.

“I try out all the whores before I hire them,” the proprietor said, loosening his belt. 

“I see,” Geralt muttered, frowning. It was hardly the first time someone had suggested he might fuck his way out of a debt, but it also wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “I thought I might chop firewood or something.” 

“Got a three-year supply of firewood,” remarked the proprietor, taking his cock in hand. “You know what I haven’t got a three-year supply of? Muscle-bound male prostitutes, that’s what. Now, put yourself belly-down on this desk, or I’ll see you thrown in jail.” 

“Hm,” said Geralt. 

“What’s the matter? Good enough to fuck a whore, but not good enough to be one yourself?”

“I… never thought of it that way,” Geralt admitted. He considered turning around and walking away, but figured that would cause larger problems. On the other hand, he could stay, and be a whore. Geralt recalled that in the brief but necessary conversation before he put his dick in her, the girl last night had convinced him that this was a decent place to work, as far as brothels went. Unexpected as this proposition was, it was probably the easiest way to repay what he owed and be on his way. 

Geralt sighed, unfastening his pants. He bent himself over the desk as instructed, glaring over his shoulder in offense as the firm head of a cock began to poke its way inside him. “What, dry?” he asked. 

“You can take it, can’t you?” his prospective employer huffed, but soon added a little spit to the tip. “Push back now. Come on.”

Geralt found himself complying, pushing back. It burned a little, but he’d certainly been through worse. He cooperated as best he could with the perfunctory fucking that followed, keeping his knees apart and his hips tilted in the way that seemed most comfortable. 

It was over in about twenty thrusts. “You’ll do,” Geralt’s new boss decided, pulling out much too quickly. He handed Geralt a rag to clean himself up. “Let’s see… two meals, four beers, a bath, and twenty hours with my cheapest girl… assuming you take your meals and lodging here with us while you work, and assuming you have customers for three or four hours a night, you should be all settled up in about three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” Geralt echoed, dumbfounded. “I can’t stay three weeks. I have a horse.” He knew that wasn’t exactly relevant, but it was what his brain came up with. 

The proprietor’s eyebrows climbed. “Are you willing to sell that horse to pay your debt?”

“No,” Geralt answered. 

“So you’ll be paying feed and board for this horse the whole time you’re working here?” 

“Yes,” Geralt realized. 

“Better plan on working five or six weeks, then,” the proprietor said, re-fastening his belt. “Cheer up, Witcher. I’ll send word around to the guys who scared off the last boy who worked here. They might take a liking to you.”

Somehow, Geralt did not feel cheered. 

At least the weeks passed quickly. 

It turned out that being a whore wasn’t any worse than being a Witcher. Even though the brothel kept ninety percent of his earnings, Geralt made enough to keep Roach well-supplied with hay and grain and grooming, and often brought her an apple or two in the afternoons. Customers were more of an annoyance than anything, and the few who managed to make him grit his teeth were charged extra. 

At the rate things were going, he expected to settle his debt and be on his way in just one more week. 

The trouble started, of course, when Jaskier strolled into the brothel, accompanied by a small troupe of other minstrels and theatrical types, apparently in town for a festival. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed in unbridled delight. “Haven’t seen you in half a year! What are you doing here?”

“Working,” Geralt replied. 

“And what sort of monsters would you be eviscerating inside this most respectable establishment?” Jaskier wondered teasingly. “You aren’t even wearing your armor! You’re here for some lovely company, same as me and my musical friends. Now then, which of these beauties has captured your honeyed gaze?”

Geralt looked away, forever annoyed when Jaskier felt the need to describe any of his physical features. 

“Gentlemen, welcome,” the proprietor appeared, all but rubbing his hands together at the arrival of so many out-of-town customers, all dressed in fine brocade and plenty of barterable jewelry. “I see you’ve met our Witcher.” He clapped Geralt on the shoulder, which Geralt bore with extreme stoicism. “Don’t let his sour expression discourage you now. He’s perfectly docile in bed.”

Jaskier gasped so loudly that Geralt had a miniscule flashback to that business with the djinn, and couldn’t stop himself from meeting Jaskier’s eyes. 

Which were sparkling gleefully. “In bed?” Jaskier asked in overt excitement. “Did you say, ‘in bed’?”

“That’s right,” said the proprietor. “For only twice the price of our prettiest girl, any of you fine lads can fuck this Witcher right here. Won’t find a deal like that anywhere else on the continent, I promise you that.”

“Done!” Jaskier exclaimed, nearly vibrating with eagerness. “Sold! Me!”

“Ugh,” Geralt muttered. 

He stomped up the stairs, Jaskier bouncing along at his heels, giggling merrily, chattering about such-good-luck and isn’t-this-great-fun and wasn’t-it-hilarious and won’t-this-song-be-a-classic.

Geralt shouldered open the door, tearing his shirt off and not caring if the door closed behind him or not. 

It was only when Geralt lit the candle to start the hour that the color drained from Jaskier’s face, the cheerful commentary draining from his mouth along with it. “…You…” Jaskier said with sudden caution. “…Wait.” He stared at the candle, and then back at Geralt, mouth ajar and eyes like saucers. “You’re not… you’re whoring yourself?” his voice was suddenly so soft, so solemn, that Geralt felt like throwing him through a wall. 

“Don’t give me that,” Geralt snarled. “You came here for a whore and now you’ve bought one.”

“Yes, but, you… you aren’t—"

“I told you I’m working here,” Geralt said, taking off his pants.

“You did mention that, but I thought…” Jaskier shook his head. “This has to be a joke.”

“It isn’t.” Naked now, Geralt crawled onto the bed.

“No… this is… I’m confused,” Jaskier babbled. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Geralt asked. Jaskier gulped like a fish. 

“I don’t…um, I don’t know how to put this,” Jaskier said, voice a little shaky. 

Geralt turned and glared at Jaskier, and then pointed one finger forcefully at his own rear end. “You put it up my ass, Jaskier,” he growled. “Or I’ll go back downstairs and end up getting fucked by one of those other feathery jugglers.”

Jaskier froze, and then snorted a laugh, and then laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall for support. “Ff—feathery jugglers!” he howled at last. “Oh Geralt, how I’ve missed you. You’re an absolute inspiration.”

“And you are a difficult customer,” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier sobered himself a little bit, giving Geralt a look that was all fondness and warmth. Geralt looked away, uncomfortable. “…Just get on with it,” he muttered. 

Jaskier sauntered across the room to where Geralt was kneeling on the bed. Geralt turned helpfully so his ass was pointed in Jaskier’s direction, which prompted Jaskier to stifle a fresh round of giggles. 

“Now now, what do we have here?” Jaskier asked playfully. 

“Damn it, Jaskier, you’ve seen my ass before,” Geralt reminded him.

“Not like this, I haven’t,” Jaskier insisted. “I’ve never seen the, uh, the center part.”

Geralt sighed. “Everyone’s got one,” he muttered crossly. “It’s not that special.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Jaskier said. “It’s extremely special. This isn’t just any old asshole, no. This is the asshole of the great White Wo—”

Geralt cut him off, making sure the timber of his voice implied consequences. “Do not sing a song about my asshole.” 

“Twice the price of the prettiest lass,” Jaskier sang anyway. “Geralt of Rivia will sell you his a—"

“Gr,” Geralt growled. He got up and grabbed Jaskier by the arms, ignoring the yelps of protest and accusations of assault. He picked Jaskier up and sat him down on the bed, wrenching his knees apart and then kneeling between them. “This is your last chance,” Geralt warned. 

“Last chance?” Jaskier echoed, dumfounded. “You mean, to actually fuck you?”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier’s mouth was hanging open. Geralt stared at him for another second, until Jaskier blinked, inhaled, and said: “…all right. Yes, okay. I’ll do it. I mean, if you don’t mind.” 

“If you’re paying, I don’t mind.” 

Jaskier looked hurt for a split second, but then bit his lip and allowed Geralt to unlace his trousers. He held absolutely still as Geralt wrapped a hand around his dick, though his heart was obviously racing. 

When Geralt hunched his shoulders and pulled Jaskier’s dick into his mouth, Jaskier gasped. His hands clutched the sides of Geralt’s head.

“Gently, gently!” Jaskier pleaded, and Geralt lessened the pressure. 

After a few moments of the tamest oral sex he’d ever given in his life, Geralt became annoyed by the way Jaskier was breathing, noisily and choppy. “…Are you all right?” he demanded. 

“Yes, fine, wonderful,” Jaskier assured him, nodding enthusiastically. “I must confess to a small terror that you might bite it off—”

“I won’t bite you,” Geralt told him. He resumed his task, ignoring Jaskier’s shuddering sigh. 

“I just have to say, and I know you won’t appreciate this observation, but, by all that is true and beautiful, you have to know, you are magnificent.”

With a pang of anger Geralt replaced his mouth with his hand. “This is the most unremarkable cocksucking any man has ever had,” he stated. “Why do you insist on exaggerating every stupid minute of your life?”

“I’ll shut up,” Jaskier promised. “If you’ll grant me one request? As you’re sucking me, can you, please just look up at me? Just, spare me a glance?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, getting to his feet. 

“Is that all I get?” Jaskier whined immediately. “Can’t I at least return the favor? Of the, um, the unremarkable cocksucking? I don’t have much experience, actually, that might surprise you, the last time I attempted it was disastrous, in fact, funny story--but I would like to try it with you, if you’ll let me.”

For a brief instant Geralt wished he could be surprised by the idea that Jaskier wanted to suck his dick. “Fine,” he said, tugging himself to hardness. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier went for it, clearly trying his best, though he couldn’t manage more than the first few inches without gagging. Finally Geralt straddled him on the bed, wrapped one hand around the back of Jaskier’s head, and roughly fucked his face for all of ten seconds. 

“Augh, ufh,” Jaskier choked as Geralt pulled back, letting him breathe. “No more of that, thank you,” he said. 

“You want to stop?” Geralt asked. 

“No, no, no, just, let me do it on my own?”

Geralt committed to holding still and letting Jaskier bob back and forth between his legs, fitting only the head of Geralt’s cock in his mouth. Geralt made the mistake of looking down and seeing Jaskier’s summer-sky eyes looking earnestly up at him, brimming with inappropriate hope and confounding admiration. 

“You want me to come?” Geralt asked after a minute. Jaskier nodded, so Geralt carefully pooled his energy and focused and in a few seconds he came in a long hot spurt straight into Jaskier’s happily-sucking mouth. 

“Wow,” Jaskier remarked, swallowing. He smiled in amazement. “I did it!”

“Sure,” Geralt told him, helping him sit up. 

“Can we move on to the part where we, do the,” Jaskier lifted his eyebrows, gesturing vaguely. “You know.”

Geralt did know. He resumed the position he’d started in, on all fours on the bed, naked ass on full display in Jaskier’s direction. Jaskier knelt on the bed behind him, chattering nervously. 

“Can’t believe this is really happening,” he was saying. “You were wrong, you know, this is special, more than special. In my wildest dreams I never imagined—well, maybe in the absolute wildest, most depraved--” 

“There’s oil in the—” Geralt started to say, but Jaskier was already yanking open the little drawer in the bedside table. “…Drawer,” Geralt finished anyway. “You don’t need to finger me,” he added. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jaskier announced cheerfully. “Just going for the straight-in, maximum experience.” Geralt rolled his eyes, briefly thankful that from this position, Jaskier couldn’t see his face. 

Jaskier’s thumbs pressed firmly at the sides of Geralt’s asshole, the tip of his oiled dick nestling snugly between them. “Ohh, this is good,” he said breathlessly. “Geralt, this is—” The pressure increased, Jaskier whispered “ _nnh—_ ” and Geralt let him slide inside. 

“Hah,” Jaskier breathed. “Oh. Oh my. That’s really—it’s really in there.” 

Geralt sighed, put one hand up on the headboard, and leaned back against Jaskier’s dick, smoothly taking the rest of it as Jaskier gasped in incredibly irritating astonishment. 

“Have you ever had sex before?” Geralt asked over his shoulder, annoyed at Jaskier’s constant overreaction.

“What! You know I have,” Jaskier pouted, hands now gripping Geralt’s hips for dear life. “I believe you’ve even seen me doing it, on several occasions!” he attempted a few reckless thrusts, which Geralt barely registered. “Put your head down?” Jaskier requested tentatively. “Might give me a better angle.”

Geralt got down on his elbows and rested his head against the mattress, Jaskier bucking away at his ass in a way that could have been pleasurable, if it had been anyone but Jaskier doing it to him. Jaskier was having more fun than any one person ought to be able to have, judging by the exuberant racket he was making. To compensate, Geralt kept silent. 

Soon, Jaskier’s efforts became so rambunctious that Geralt was gradually jostled forward, until his face was close to the gap between the mattress and headboard. He was just about to tell Jaskier that they needed to scoot back towards the middle of the bed when he noticed something wedged between the mattress and the bedframe, that only an eye from this peculiar angle could see. 

“Wait—” Geralt said. He reached back and abruptly halted Jaskier’s humping.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, breathless and confused. Geralt pulled himself clear of Jaskier’s dick in one careless motion, hand reaching down between the mattress and bedframe to retrieve the item he’d seen. “What is that?” Jaskier asked.

“My wallet,” Geralt said grimly, opening it. All the money was there. More than he’d earned over the past four weeks. More than enough to pay what remained of his debt. His mind replayed that first night he’d spent in this brothel, in this very room. He’d sat on the bed. The whore had lit the candle and helped him undress. His clothes had ended up in a pile on the floor, but somehow along the way, his wallet must have fallen from his pocket. “…Fuck,” Geralt said.

“…Um, excuse me,” Jaskier spoke up. “But might we…”

“We’re done,” Geralt decided, reaching for his pants. “I’m not a whore anymore.”

If Jaskier’s jaw could have detached and fallen to the floor, it would have. “Mid-coitus?” he exclaimed, raising his voice in distress. “You’re quitting being a whore, in the middle of our carnal relations? Am I really so intolerable?”

“It’s not you,” Geralt said, pulling his pants up. “You’re perfectly…” he searched for an appropriate word, then gave up. “Well. Some people would probably enjoy you.”

“Some people, but not you?” Jaskier demanded.

“I wasn’t doing this to enjoy it,” Geralt informed him. “I needed the money. Now I don’t. So it’s over.” 

“You were doing this for money?” Jaskier asked in anguish.

Now Geralt was losing his patience. “That’s the definition of a whore, Jaskier! Fucking for money!” 

The proprietor burst into the room, holding a club that Geralt had only seen him use once. “What’s going on in here?” he demanded. “Witcher. What’s this lad done to you?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier said dejectedly. 

“Witcher’s been here over a month and this is the first I’ve heard him yell. He ain’t the type to yell for ‘nothing’,” the proprietor countered. 

“I’m fine,” Geralt grumbled. “I, uh, I found my wallet.” 

The proprietor blinked a few times, then lowered his club. “Oh, did you! So you weren’t robbed after all. I knew my girls weren’t thieves.”

“Guess not,” Geralt said. “Sorry for the,” he grimaced. “Misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be,” said Geralt’s now-former boss. “You were good for business. Speaking of,” he reached over and pinched out the candle, at the precise instant it reached the one-hour mark. Then he turned to Jaskier and extended his hand, palm up. “That’ll be ten crowns, if you please.” 

“Ten crowns?!” Jaskier began stuffing his legs into his pants, face gone white. “For an hour?!”

“Twice the price of my sweet Ulissa,” remarked the proprietor, matter-of-fact. 

“But I’m not even a satisfied customer,” Jaskier complained. “I’m not paying ten crowns for a whore who didn’t finish what he started.”

“Not my problem,” Geralt rumbled. “I don’t work here anymore.” He counted out a few coins from his wallet and deposited them into the proprietor’s hand, promptly making his way out the door. 

“But I don’t even _have_ ten crowns,” Jaskier’s desperate voice followed Geralt down the hall.

“There may be a way you could pay off the debt,” Geralt heard the proprietor reply. 

“Huh,” Geralt grunted, heading down the stairs. “Good luck with that, Jaskier,” he muttered under his breath. But his feet slowed halfway down the steps. He paused, listening for the rest of the conversation, half expecting Jaskier to bolt out the door and come crashing down the stairs behind him. 

When he heard a muffled exclamation of “oh, do you mean right now?”, Geralt closed his eyes, shook his head, and went back up the stairs. 

He walked in on the exact scene he knew he’d find: the trying-out of the newest whore to be hired. Jaskier, pale-faced and tense, was dangerously close to getting fucked, quick and business-like and absolutely without regard for his feelings. And Geralt, damn it all to every hell, felt responsible. 

“Come on,” he said to Jaskier’s watery eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Just a minute, Witcher. This lad still owes me—”

“No,” Geralt decided, and that was how he and Jaskier both ended up banned from that particular brothel for life. 

Stretched out on either side of their campfire that night, miles away from the town, Jaskier picked at his lute. “…I might have made ten crowns, playing at the festival,” he mused. 

“Unlikely,” Geralt thought aloud. 

“Did you really let that awful man fuck you?” Jaskier wondered.

“I let a lot of people fuck me,” Geralt reminded him. “And that man in particular wasn’t one of the awful ones. He was just operating a business.”

“Do you think he would have hired me?” Jaskier asked. 

“No,” Geralt answered honestly. “I think he would have determined that you’re too sensitive.”

“Sensitive,” Jaskier snorted. He plucked absently at his lute. “Tell me, was there any part of it you liked? Being a whore, I mean.”

“No. It was just a job. Work.” He thought of something. “There was one thing. The bread. One of the girls baked very soft bread.”

“Mm,” Jaskier hummed appreciatively. “For a slice of soft bread…” he sang spontaneously. “He might share your bed…”

“Stop that,” Geralt warned him.

“But I need a new song. And the ones about you are the most popular. Need to make some decent money, you know, so I can have you for more than an hour the next time you lose your wallet.”

“Hm,” said Geralt.

“Seriously though. You must be the largest idiot on the face of the earth! Privately, I will confess, I might have thought I was the stupid one. But now? No. What sort of man whores himself out for four weeks instead of just searching for his missing property?”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d been robbed in a brothel, Jaskier. It happens all the time.” 

“No Geralt, it doesn’t,” insisted Jaskier. “Nothing about your escapade in that brothel was something that ‘happens all the time’. It was all extraordinarily outrageous, from start to end. Ten crowns an hour! You must have raked in more gold than a dragon.” 

Geralt almost chuckled. “Half crown an hour,” he corrected. 

Jaskier blinked at him. “What?”

“Half crown. That was the usual price. The boss saw your festival friends come flouncing in, with their glittery capes and whatnot, and figured demand for a male prostitute would be twenty times higher than usual.” 

Jaskier gaped at him, scandalized. Abruptly he scrambled for his satchel, dug out one half crown, and threw it at the ground by Geralt’s feet. Geralt gazed at it, unperturbed. 

“Very funny,” Geralt said, and it took him a while to notice that Jaskier didn’t seem to find it funny at all. 

“All right,” Geralt finally sat up and retrieved the coin. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Wouldn’t want you to think you’d let me have you for free, that’s all.”

Geralt processed that for a minute. “Why not?” he rumbled. “I thought you said it was your wildest dream to fuck me or something.”

“Maybe it’s my wildest dream to not be pushed away in the throes of my ecstasy,” Jaskier countered. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’re mad I didn’t let you finish? That’s your problem?” 

In hindsight, of course, Geralt could admit it had probably been bad form to have cut Jaskier off mid-fuck like that. It wasn’t as if he’d ruined the boy’s wedding night, for fuck’s sake, but it seemed clear to him now that a few minutes more and a reassuring word in the aftermath wouldn’t have hurt anything, and might have saved them both from this unbearable moping. 

“And I’m mad you had to save me again,” Jaskier pouted. 

“I didn’t have to. After a minute or two of rough handling you would’ve been marched off to do a year’s worth of laundry. You would have been fine. I didn’t have to intervene.”

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Geralt,” Jaskier said. 

Annoyed, Geralt lay back down beside the campfire, scowling up at the stars. “Why do you want to fuck me so badly, anyway?” he grumbled.

“…Is that a serious question?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen you with women. You love women and they love you back often enough. Why shift your dick for me?”

The lute went silent. “I don’t know. There are too many reasons, really. It’s complicated.”

That sad tone was starting to bother Geralt, inexplicably compelling him to offer Jaskier something that would be sure to cheer him up. “At the next town,” he muttered. 

Jaskier perked up immediately. “…Yes?” he prompted. 

“If there’s an inn,” Geralt went on. 

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier asked excitedly. “Honestly? You’ll give me another chance?”

Geralt found it infuriating that Jaskier had somehow understood what he’d been about to say before he’d formed the words. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, already suspecting that he’d regret it. “One condition,” he added. “No songs.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hummed in agreement. And then continued humming. “Mm-hmm-hmmm.”

“And no humming. Go to sleep,” Geralt ordered. 

Jaskier chuckled, wriggling around to get comfortable. “How far to the next town?” he asked after a minute. 

“Few days,” Geralt answered, eyes closed. 

Jaskier sighed mightily. “Don’t want to wait a few days.” 

“Too bad,” Geralt told him. “If you’re going to fuck me, it will be in a bed. Not in the dirt like an animal.”

“Oh, now you have standards, do you?” Jaskier complained. “I bet you’d let Yennefer fuck you in the dirt.”

“Yennefer would magically conjure a bed,” Geralt informed him. “And has done so for me, many times.” 

“Oh, many times, has she? Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“No. I’ve come up with a solution for your problem, we’ve agreed upon it, and now I’m trying to get some sleep.” 

Still grumbling, Jaskier rolled over a few more times, finally settling down. “Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier said at last. 

“Goodnight,” Geralt replied, and was relieved to hear a contented sigh from the other side of the fire. Conversation concluded, then. And neither of them overly furious. It had been a decent day, all told. 

Hopefully, the next town would have an inn. 

The End :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finishing one thing accidentally starts another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, I wrote another chapter. Couldn't leave poor Jaskier like that, you know. :)

The next town did have an inn, and Geralt paid for a room. 

He tried his best not to be too annoyed by the dreamy and pink-faced way Jaskier gazed at him over their supper in the tavern downstairs.

“Ah, this is really happening,” Jaskier sing-songed over his final mug of beer. “Sharing a room!”

“We’ve shared a room plenty of times,” Geralt reminded him. 

“Sharing a bed!” Jaskier said in the same besotted tone. 

“…We’ve done that too,” Geralt felt compelled to mention. 

“Yes, but we always slept back-to-back and fully clothed,” Jaskier recalled with a note of regret. “Tonight, dear Witcher, I shall have your back to my front, entirely naked.”

Geralt felt the world drift away from the edges of his senses a little as his focus was pulled in, locking on to the bard. Rosy cheeks and flirting mouth and human eyes bright with desire. Everything else—the smells, the sounds, the currents of information that permeated a Witcher’s existence—it all faded away, unimportant.

“Hm,” said Geralt. It was nice to have his attention anchored for once by something that wasn’t trying to kill him. 

Jaskier blinked a few times. “…You’re staring at me,” he muttered in a pinched voice. “Not sure if that’s a good sign. You aren’t considering calling it off, are you?”

Geralt frowned. “Not at all,” he said. 

“Okay, good.” Jaskier drained the rest of his beer and let the empty mug clunk against the table. “Perhaps we should get on with it?” he asked, doing a poor job of concealing his eagerness.

“Let’s go,” Geralt agreed, standing up.

Once they were settled in their room, Geralt systematically shed his armor and outer layers while Jaskier all but paced in circles. 

“…Do you think I might be able to help you with that?” Jaskier wondered plaintively, referring to Geralt’s undressing. 

Geralt paused and considered for a moment, his shirt already halfway off. 

“Never mind, you look like you can handle it,” Jaskier muttered. 

Bare-chested now, Geralt rummaged in his pack for a little potion-bottle of oil. Finding it, he tossed it to Jaskier, who gawped at it like a fish. 

“Isn’t this the stuff you use on your saddle?” Jaskier pretended to be shocked. “I know you’re old and leathery but certain luxuries can be—”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Geralt interrupted. He sat on the bed to take off his boots. “We can manage without it, if you’d rather,” he added. Jaskier fidgeted, momentum carrying him one way and then another until at last he put the little bottle on the sill of the window beside the bed. Then he sat beside Geralt, copying him in removing his boots. 

“Is it weird that I’m all of a sudden extremely nervous?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt turned to look at him. The bard had known dozens of lovers from one side of the continent to the other. He was no stranger to sex, and no stranger to Geralt either—he’d had his cock happily up Geralt’s ass just a few days earlier, and Geralt hadn’t threatened him with anything unusual or extreme tonight. Was it weird that the bard was nervous?

“…Yeah,” Geralt grunted. 

“Right, of course it is,” Jaskier agreed, eyes straying to the bottle on the windowsill. “Nothing to worry about here, just have to give a quick fuck to my very best friend, that’s all. Nothing to it.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt corrected immediately. He unbuttoned his trousers, deliberately choosing not to acknowledge the hungry way Jaskier was watching him. “But you can, if you want to,” he clarified. 

“Right, right, right,” Jaskier repeated, then bit his lip, looking at Geralt’s now-naked body with eyes that were very blue and very concerned. “But what about you? I mean, do you want me to?” he asked. 

“I don’t care either way,” Geralt informed him. “If you’ve changed your mind then we can just go to sleep.” If the bard backed out now, Geralt would certainly get over it. Jaskier had no obligation here, and coming off four weeks at that brothel being fucked almost every day, Geralt could scarcely claim to be desperate for sex. 

Jaskier stared at him, wounded. “I’m sorry, Geralt, but you’re going to have to do better than that.” His voice was as serious as Geralt had ever heard it. “If you can’t tell me that you actually want this, then that means you don’t want it.”

Geralt sighed. “I don’t ‘want’ things the same way you do,” he tried to explain. 

“Oh, that’s such bullshit, your whole ‘I want nothing’ nonsense. You want things all the time!”

“I want,” Geralt tried again, gritting his teeth. “You to be satisfied.”

Jaskier gave a low, dark chuckle. “…Are you doing this just to shut me up?” 

“To cheer you up,” Geralt told him. “After I treated you unfairly, at the brothel. I thought you understood that was the reason I suggested this.” 

Jaskier seemed taken aback. He chewed on his lower lip, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I’ve had sex for a lot of terrible reasons,” he said. “You know, to punish neglectful husbands, that sort of thing. I take advantage of what’s available. Happy to have whoever’ll have me, no matter their motive. But this time, I, um…” he looked down, then carefully met Geralt’s eyes. “I need a better reason.”

“Then pick one,” Geralt grumbled, still not seeing the problem. 

After fidgeting for another moment, Jaskier mustered enough resolve to reach out with one hand and touch the side of Geralt’s face. Geralt turned into the touch, subtly, giving Jaskier a slight hint of encouragement. He closed his eyes as the pressure against his cheek turned into an actual caress, and turned his face just enough to scrape the heel of Jaskier’s palm with his lips. 

Jaskier yanked his hand away, mouth falling open. “Was that a kiss?!” he demanded. “Did you just kiss my hand?”

Rather than giving the obvious answer, Geralt moved backwards onto the bed and lay down on one half of it, clearly leaving room for Jaskier. 

Jaskier hurriedly pulled off his own clothing and snuggled into the space at Geralt’s side, staring at him. “So you do have some affection for me,” he mused.

“Some,” Geralt agreed. 

“Do it again?” Jaskier requested. “Kiss me, I mean.” 

Geralt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then leaned towards his face. Jaskier kept his eyes open way too long, so Geralt closed his own eyes instead, finding Jaskier’s lips slack and waiting for him. 

“…Okay, wow,” Jaskier said as Geralt pulled back. “That was good.”

“Good,” Geralt echoed.

Jaskier stared into Geralt’s eyes for a long moment. “…Do you know I’ve had more first times with lovers than second times?” he mentioned. “Easier to jump out a window and never be seen again, rather than face, the, uh, emotional consequences.”

“Or the vengeful cuckolds,” Geralt muttered. 

“Yes, those too. But mostly I run away before I can be told to leave,” Jaskier confessed. 

“I’ve told you to leave plenty of times,” Geralt remarked, pretending to be puzzled. “Doesn’t seem to have any effect.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Jaskier pouted. “Do you have any inkling of how exasperating it is to be in love with you?”

Geralt gave him a look that fell exactly at the intersection of amused and annoyed. “Can’t be any more exasperating than being the object of a nonsensical infatuation.” 

Jaskier scowled at him, but there was a hint of respect there, an acceptance that a cylinder could be seen as a circle from one side and a rectangle from the other. Neither of them was wrong for their view. “I’m going to kiss you for that,” Jaskier declared. 

“Go right ahead,” Geralt welcomed him. Jaskier supported himself on his elbows and reached out, burrowing one hand behind Geralt’s head, grabbing him by the back of his skull. He wrapped his other hand around the chain of the Witcher’s medallion, and pulled it tight. Geralt felt the silver chain bite into the sides of his neck and growled in approval.

At last Jaskier drew back, his human heart beating much faster than usual. 

Geralt met his eyes and smiled. “Found a good enough reason yet?” he murmured. 

Jaskier’s breath caught, and he cupped Geralt’s jaw with his hand, his thumb tracing Geralt’s bottom lip. Tracing his smile, Geralt realized. “Just there, I did,” Jaskier said, and came in for another, much softer kiss. 

Geralt knew how to play this game, rolling to cover Jaskier with his body, his arms holding himself up while also caging Jaskier in place. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier laughed, his hand wriggling between their bodies to close over the head of Geralt’s cock. “Just so we’re clear. There’s no way you’re cramming this thing inside my lusciously wanton body tonight. I’m not ready for that.”

“I know,” Geralt huffed. He hadn’t been expecting to attempt any such thing, honestly, so it was odd that the bard would mention it. “I’m the one getting fucked tonight,” he added. 

“Oh yes, you most certainly are,” Jaskier breathed in agreement. His body, pinned beneath Geralt from chest to thighs, relaxed much more than Geralt expected. Jaskier did seem to operate with an excess of energy, most of the time, and it was surprising to feel that energy—that nervousness—unspool so completely. “…Turn over for me?” Jaskier asked, pecking Geralt on the cheek. 

Geralt obeyed right away, getting comfortable with Jaskier against his back. Without being told, he hooked his elbow under his knee, drawing his leg up and out of the way. 

Murmuring half-intelligible praises and promises, Jaskier rolled his hips forward, using one hand to guide his cock back and forth across Geralt’s asshole. Geralt shifted back against the motion, anticipating penetration without being impatient for it, trusting that Jaskier wouldn’t tease him too long. 

“You want that oil?” Jaskier whispered tenderly. 

Geralt thought about it and decided that no, he didn’t. “Spit will do,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier made a whining sound that was either a minor complaint or a compressed expression of excitement. Geralt didn’t particularly care which. Two spit-slicked fingers touched him, followed immediately by Jaskier’s cock.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jaskier mentioned, which was the first annoying thing he’d said in a while. 

“You don’t h—” Geralt started to say. 

“I want to.” Jaskier’s voice was pitifully sincere. 

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. He didn’t even have to think about taking the cock that was offered to him now—Jaskier gave the slightest nudge forward and Geralt’s ass settled right down over the head.

Jaskier’s breathing hitched. “Oh, fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned into the back of Geralt’s shoulder. He rocked forward again, pushing in a little further. “Making it easy on me,” he muttered. 

“Had lots of practice,” Geralt reminded him. The bard did have a good length of cock to match his long-limbed frame, so he still had some work to do in order to bury himself fully in Geralt’s body, but Geralt didn’t think it would be difficult. He didn’t mind bracing his leg to the side; he was perfectly comfortable, and the angle was good for both of them. 

Fingers quickly added a little more spit. “So glad you’re—” Jaskier rocked back and slid forward again, pushing the rest of the way in. “Ah! Letting me do this,” he said, sounding utterly grateful. 

“It’s nothing,” Geralt told him, even as he mentally acknowledged that the slow drag of Jaskier’s cock was building towards pleasurable.

“Only you would call the nicest sex of your life ‘nothing’,” Jaskier purred, kissing his shoulder. Geralt would have argued that this was the most average sex of his life, totally ordinary, but Jaskier was moving so deliberately, careful and steady, that the word ‘nice’ suddenly did seem to apply. 

So Geralt said “hm” instead of disagreeing, and let Jaskier have his way with him. 

It was much better than he’d expected. Jaskier did have a modicum of self-control, amazingly enough. He stayed slow, making long, seeking strokes and then pausing, resting where he reached his limit deep inside, holding Geralt tight and waiting with astonishing patience for his Witcher’s heart to beat before pulling back. He gave Geralt plenty of time to appreciate the feeling of each inevitable withdrawal, and plenty of time to look forward to the next leisurely press back in. 

Geralt had no trouble with such a lazy pace, and didn’t mind the pauses, didn’t mind Jaskier’s cock taking up space within him, undemanding, feeling far more welcome and familiar than it had any right to feel. With such a comfortable and well-disciplined dick, it was odd that the bard was so often thrown out by lovers. 

“…Feels good,” Geralt remarked after a while. 

Jaskier gave a delighted gasp. “Do you mean it?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Geralt confirmed. 

Jaskier exhaled softly, his cock halting only halfway in. “--Oh no,” he said, and Geralt felt him shudder as he came, just that simply. “Ahh—no, no, no—sorry,” he gasped. 

“It’s all right.” Geralt waited a moment, letting Jaskier catch his breath, and then reached down to help him pull the rest of the way out. “You did fine.”

“Ah, well, I’ll do better next time,” Jaskier promised. He rolled away for a second, then returned, bringing a handkerchief to Geralt’s hand. 

A silk handkerchief. Geralt held it between his fingers for a moment, perplexed. 

“Of course there will be a next time, won’t there?” Jaskier wondered pleadingly. 

With a jolt Geralt realized what the fancy handkerchief was for, and reached between his legs to clean himself up. Jaskier, he now noticed, had an identical handkerchief and was hastily wiping himself off. 

“Thanks,” Geralt mentioned, referring to the handkerchief. 

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier said tightly. “But that’s not answering my question.”

Geralt had to think back a moment to determine what question there had been. “You want to do this again,” he rumbled, and considered it. 

“Obviously yes, but only if you want to,” Jaskier babbled. 

Geralt sighed. Jaskier had felt good inside him. He’d even said so aloud. Doing it again wouldn’t hurt anything. “Fine,” he agreed. “Whenever we’re traveling together, and happen to find ourselves with decent accommodations. And providing you don’t mind getting me off sometimes, it’s possible we could do this again. Save us both a little money in the long run.”   
Jaskier went still, and Geralt could almost hear him frowning.

“I’m not saying I’ll need your ass, if that’s your problem,” Geralt clarified, thinking that must be the reason Jaskier seemed uncomfortable with what he’d proposed. “Your mouth and hands should suffice. And there’ll still be women for me, now and then. You won’t have to grab your ankles.”

“No, that’s not…” Jaskier shook his head against the pillow. “I’d like to try it, actually. The ankle-grabbing. But only if you promise to go incredibly slow.”

Geralt pictured it, plowing Jaskier open that way. If the bard really wanted it, and wouldn’t complain too much or make too many agonized faces, and especially if he could forego his usual chatter for five minutes, he might look good taking Geralt’s cock. If Geralt thought about it any further, he would probably get hard. He hadn’t considered fucking Jaskier before, but just like that, it now seemed like it might be worth attempting sometime. 

“Not tonight, of course,” Jaskier added hurriedly. 

“Mm,” Geralt agreed. 

“Anyway, that wasn’t my problem,” Jaskier went on. “With what you said. The thought of getting you off isn’t a deterrent. I’d tug you off here and now if you’d like—would you like, by the way?”

Geralt was feeling thick and lazy now, not at all motivated to stir up a fresh round of arousal. “No thanks,” he grumbled, and added, “maybe in the morning,” in case Jaskier felt rejected. 

“Looking forward to it already,” Jaskier said brightly. “Now, as I was saying, and will happily demonstrate in the morning, getting you off isn’t the problem. It was your comment about money.”

That was strange. Jaskier had never seemed averse to saving money before. “…I meant that if we’re fucking each other, we’ll likely spend less on whores,” Geralt felt compelled to explain. 

“You’re not a whore, Geralt.”

“My ass over the last four weeks begs to differ,” Geralt huffed. 

For some incomprehensible reason, Jaskier was getting upset. “That’s not what this is to me,” he exclaimed. “This is the most important relationship of my life.” 

Now it was Geralt’s turn to go still, because he had not been thinking of this sexual endeavor as anything important at all. Convenient, maybe. Mutually beneficial, most likely. Unusual? Definitely yes. It was unusual for a Witcher to travel with a sexual partner. Not completely unheard of, but certainly odd. If it did happen, it surely didn’t last for long. Romantically entangled companions would tire of the endless roaming and the sleeping outdoors and the constant barrage of foul monsters needing to be brutally slain. Even the longest and dirtiest of nights in a Witcher’s bed would eventually be outweighed by the longer, dirtier days at a Witcher’s side. 

But Jaskier, mysteriously enough, hadn’t been discouraged yet. And adding a sexual option to their… relationship, now, the bard would be even less likely to leave. 

For the first time, Geralt considered that Jaskier might try to grow old following him around the continent. 

“Going to get yourself killed,” he muttered. 

“What was that?” Jaskier asked.

“Following me around,” Geralt clarified. “It’s hard to believe that you haven’t been killed already.”

“Credit where it’s due,” Jaskier replied cheerfully. “You do a decent job keeping me alive.”

Something about that felt wrong. Geralt was supposed to spend his days killing things, not keeping someone alive. But he didn’t know how to tell Jaskier that he didn’t want that responsibility, so he stayed silent. 

“I can hear you worrying,” Jaskier said. 

“I wasn’t,” Geralt protested, because being uncomfortable about an unwanted responsibility wasn’t the same as worrying. 

“But fear not, Witcher. I’ll be good to you,” Jaskier rambled on merrily, being annoying once more. “Just give me a few weeks to hone my various techniques, and you’ll be like, ‘Yennefer who’?” 

“Leave her out of this,” Geralt grunted. “Whatever I’m doing with you has no bearing on my feelings for her.”

“Your what?” Jaskier was faking his shock, that was clear. 

“You heard me,” Geralt grunted. “I care about her. I thought you knew.” 

There was a slightly too-long pause. “Yes, I know,” Jaskier said at last. “But I also choose to believe it’s possible for you to care about more than one person at a time.”

So that’s what the bard was getting at. Geralt might’ve known. “Yes, Jaskier, you’ve proven that already,” Geralt told him. 

“Have I?” Jaskier wondered. 

“Yes,” Geralt confirmed, meaning that to be the end of it. He reached out and settled a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. He’d failed to discourage the bard from falling in love with him. Had failed to reject his companionship. And now he’d somehow just agreed to an ongoing sexual relationship. If Jaskier came to his senses and decided to walk away, it would be a relief. But if he stayed, as he seemed determined to do, he had to know that Geralt cared about him.

Jaskier wriggled a little under the weight of Geralt’s hand. “Right, okay,” he babbled. “It’s just that after I found you in that brothel, I can’t help but wonder if maybe you’re only going along with this because it’s easier than getting yourself out of it.”

Geralt turned that over for a minute and decided the bard had a point. He removed his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder, rolled to face the wall, and tugged the sheet up around his chest. “The only thing I’m interested in getting out of is this conversation,” he grunted. 

“I still can’t believe you let them do that to you,” Jaskier muttered. 

Facing the wall, Geralt smirked a little, recognizing the attempted provocation and not at all perturbed by it. “Do what? You mean exactly what you just did?”

“No, I mean…” Jaskier’s voice betrayed that he felt duly chastised. “I assume they weren’t as nice to you as I was,” he salvaged. 

“They weren’t,” Geralt granted, wholly unbothered. 

“Did any of them try to make it good for you?” Jaskier wondered bitterly. “Show you even half the courtesy you or I would show a woman?” 

“Some tried.” Geralt furrowed his brow. “It’s not like I was tortured. Most customers were completely ordinary men with ordinary desires not being met elsewhere. That’s all. A normal night cost me scarcely any more effort than I expended here with you.”

“That’s—” Jaskier’s voice tightened. “That’s exactly as I feared.” 

Geralt had no idea what was causing Jaskier’s emotional downturn. “It’s a problem for you that I don’t mind getting fucked?” Geralt wondered. “That I can endure four weeks as a whore without complaint?”

“In a word, yes!” Jaskier insisted, apparently determined to dig his heels in on whatever point he was driving at. “I do believe that you care about me, but at the end of the day, you don’t desire me any more than you would any old Jan, Jack, or Jeremy off the street.” 

Geralt still could not take this tirade seriously. “We’ve fucked exactly twice, and you’re giving me the poor old wife routine? Wives like that are half the reason brothels exist in the first place.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Jaskier demanded. “Come to peace with the fact that you don’t really want me?”

“Or,” Geralt challenged, smirking again. “Come to peace with the fact that I’ve been a whore.” 

Jaskier sputtered half a laugh in spite of himself. 

“It was no worse than being a Witcher,” Geralt added, closing his eyes. He was tired, and more than ready to stop discussing Jaskier’s pitifully human feelings. 

Jaskier shook his head, his hair rustling against the pillow. “In terms of unpleasantness, or public perception?” he asked.

“Both,” Geralt answered. It was true that a lot of people had low opinions of prostitutes, just as they had low opinions of Witchers. 

Jaskier sighed and then was silent, his heartbeat slowing, sleep approaching at last. “Guess I have my work cut out for me,” he mused after a moment.

“Still bent on changing public perception?”

“Bent on changing your perception,” Jaskier corrected. 

Geralt didn’t think that was possible, and didn’t particularly want to change even if it were, but he knew better than to say so to the bard—and he supposed it was harmless for the bard to try. “Good luck,” he grunted. 

“Thank you,” said Jaskier, and kissed the back of Geralt’s shoulder. “And on that note, I will see you in the morning. Got to get busy dreaming about the hand job I’m going to give you.” 

Geralt smiled, eyes still closed. “Goodnight, Jaskier,” he murmured. 

Jaskier snuggled in a little closer against his back and wrapped an arm around his waist, which Geralt decided he didn’t mind at all. He fell asleep to the sound of Jaskier’s breathing, as he’d done a thousand times before.

The hand job, in the morning, was adequate.

The end!


End file.
